


No Heroes

by JanuaryBlue



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Controlling Family, Gen, Teenage Warrior of Light, Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV) Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:01:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21813340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JanuaryBlue/pseuds/JanuaryBlue
Summary: You don’t want to be here. You don’t want to be here. Please, please –If there’s any god out there who answers the prayers of heroes –Please, someone let you out.(Into a world that had no need for heroes.)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 32
Collections: Final Fantasy XIV Gift Exchange (2019)





	No Heroes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AtmaWriting](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AtmaWriting/gifts).



You’re only sixteen when you fell your first Primal.

It’s easy to forget, and you can tell they _do._ They do it so well. You take everything they say in silence, and they take that to mean stride. The Scions tell you the fate of millions hangs in the balance, there is a god that needs must be slain, they tell you the fates of the tempered with solemn faces.

They think you’re _so_ stoic, they think you’re such a great hero. A bastion of strength, undefeatable. Unyielding in the face of even overwhelming opposition, always triumphing in spite of the odds. The warrior who can always be relied upon to deliver victory in any battle or mission.

Unflinching and unwavering; their Warrior of Light. A true hero.

Not even close.

They tell you to go kill a god.

What can you _say_ to something like that?

_Are you insane?_

No, they only have no other options.

_I can’t do that!_

Neither can anyone else.

_I’m afraid! I’m too scared!_

They’re scared, too. Everyone else’s lives are at risk and they can do _nothing_ for it, unlike you.

_I don’t want to!_

No one would force you, but _oh,_ you’d have to bear the disappointment. Your name was known, now, thanks to them, everyone _looked_ up to you. And further than disappointment, you would know, you would _hear_ the consequences of refusal. People would _die._

People would die, and it would be because of you. Because you didn’t choose to fight. Because you ran away.

The funniest thing of all – this is supposed to be your _escape._ Not a tale of heroic struggles or epic battles; just a young teen and parents who expected too much. The sort of thing people would laugh at, upon hearing. Say “Grow up, child, your parents feed you, house you, clothe you. They want what’s best for you.”

That’s what they’d always say, so what would be the point in bringing it up? The Scions don’t know. The Guildmaster doesn’t know. No one does. There is no point in sharing, not when all the burdens and troubles of everyone else so far outweigh such trifles.

(Outweigh, indeed. It’s a terrible burden, and you don’t want it, you want _out,_ but you wouldn’t go back, not for anything.)

It isn’t even pride that prevents any reconciliation. What is there to reconcile, with people who already _knew_ they were right? They were just _always right,_ because they were your parents, and why did you bother arguing with them? You were a _child,_ you knew nothing of the ways of the world, you’d only ever lived off the good graces of your parents, they did _everything_ for you and you were so _ungrateful –_

It’s _sickening._ You are done hearing it. Forever.

If you were so _lucky_ to live out that life your parents planned for you, in return for caring for the child they brought into this world, then well – let someone else be lucky in your place. Let them find or adopt another child, because the person you were, they didn’t want.

They want their perfect child. They want their _idea_ of the perfect child. They’ve decided already what is acceptable for you to want in life, what you can have as hobbies, how much you can be happy without being unseemly, who you can be happy with and who can make you happy.

And they did it all without asking you. So they should be perfectly find searching for someone else, anyone else, to live out the life they had planned out for their child. Someone who had problems within the acceptable range of expectations, someone who liked doing the things your parents expected you to do, someone whose reactions and expressions were in line with what they thought appropriate for their offspring.

Your mother and father didn’t want _you._ They didn’t even want a _child._ They wanted someone to play the role of their child, and what they really cared about was the role, the script of “Showing emotions like that is unseemly.” and “Don’t associate with those types!” and “When will you stop muddling around with those silly pastimes?”

Anyone would tell you already that they were “just trying to help”.

When those people had each and every person they ever befriended run out by their own parents in some humiliating display.

When they had to sit and listen to their mother lecture away about how inappropriate it was to laugh so freely, or to make such a face at dinner.

When they had to watch every single little thing they enjoyed in life – flowers on the windowsill, tiny little games played by oneself, other forms of private expression like art and poetry – get torn away from them with greedy hands –

 _Then,_ they could call you selfish and ungrateful.

What was there left to _life_ , when you had to live like that? What were you living for, when everything that made you happy was gone? Were you supposed to be happy just because you could eat, when all you wanted to do from the moment you woke up was go back to sleep?

Every day when you opened up your eyes, you had not one single thing to look forward to, just one gauntlet after the next. More and more trials and challenges with no rewards, things you had to do to satisfy _other people_ and all you got in return was the absence of scolding. If they didn’t find something else to complain about.

Who _wouldn’t_ leave a life like that?

So yes, it had been running away, and whether it was the act of some bratty child or a teenager desperate for freedom; you couldn’t care less. You were gone, and you could at least live now for yourself…

…No matter how impossible it was starting to feel.

If anyone thought you were being dramatic – then _they_ could take up the mantle of Warrior of Light, in your stead.

\---

**Hope incarnate.**

A bracelet lined carefully with gems, crafted with the finest materials you could find in the Churning Mists, untouched by man for eras. A precious gift that could no longer be granted.

…You never thought you’d have hated Haurchefant. Of all people. But to hear those words, to imagine… just what had he thought of you?

“A smile better suits a hero.”

You’d had precious few reasons to smile, as of late. Offering the stoic not and salute of support had seemed to satisfy everyone, but it seems in your innocent and heartfelt interactions, Haurchefant had forgotten your youth.

When Shiva had – when Aymeric had told you about how he’d needed to be held back, how he’d wanted to go after you – you’d thought – you’d thought he was –

He _was_ worried about you, in his way. You sit there, freezing, in the snow that marked his grave. He _did_ care.

But he didn’t really know you, did he? Not truly. He knew the Warrior of Light he wanted to know, the hero he admired, the person he’d taken in and sheltered.

But he didn’t know _you._ Not the teen who’d fled home, or the child who was never good enough, or the adventurer who was just trying to get by, build your own life.

You cannot even be upset about it.

Who would want to know someone like you, when the Warrior of Light was so much… _more?_

Even if it is only a delusion they willfully indulge in.

Who’s to say you wouldn’t do the same, if you didn’t have to fill the role yourself?

\--

One war, and then another – and now another war between Eorzea and Garlemald looms on the horizon.

You’re called in, because of course you are. It is only expected.

Warrior of Light. Weapon of Light.

They call you in and they expect you to fight another war for them. Because of course you will. Of course you’ll do as they ask. Kill who needs killing. Destroy what needs to be destroyed. That’s all you’re good for, isn’t it? That’s all they want you to do.

You clutch your hands, feeling rings press hard into your skin.

You’d crafted them all yourself. The finest jewelry and all manner of magical staves, as well. You crafted them beautifully, they sold for exorbitant prices the instant you put them to market. Fellow craftsmen and collectors alike praised the design, the care and finesse put into each piece, the quality and rarity of the materials and how cleverly they had been utilized.

If anyone called you a child now, you’d just walk away; after all, you could earn your own living. Your parent’s derision was a fading memory, faint and tasteless. The one good thing you’d earned from all of this. You didn’t depend on anyone.

But it doesn’t matter, it doesn’t matter how much you honed your art or how hard you worked on your pieces, or how much they sold for. You’re the Warrior of Light, a title that no amount of money could buy.

Never mind that no about of money, blood, or power can buy _creativity._ Can buy _artistry_ or _expression._ Never mind that you did well with those things, because no one else could be the Weapon of Light, so you had to be it. Always.

They drag you in to some meeting with some Emperor you couldn’t care less about. They make plan after plan for an upcoming war.

Do they ask you? Of course not.

This time it’s not because you’re a child and you don’t have the right, the awareness, the agency to determine your own fate. This time, you’re a weapon, and objects don’t even need to be told in order to behave the way they should.

You still wouldn’t trade it back. Not for anything.

\--

One by one they fall – the Calling, snatching away their consciousness, just as the Scions seem poised to take more into their hands.

Thancred goes unconscious just after he lays out his plan, and when the Alliance runs straight ahead with it still, you start to realize – maybe you’re not the only one who’s had to be a tool.

Then the others fall, one by one.

It’s not as bad to be alone, because even if they’d all been under pressure, none of them had ever had to bear what you have. You were always the head of the spear, bearing the brunt of the weight, fighting on the frontlines.

It’s not so bad, but when Alisaie falls you feel a despair in your heart like no other.

Alone, alone, now you’re all alone and they want you to fight in this war you’d never come to be involved in –

You just wanted to _live_ your _life,_ you just wanted to strike out on your own, be your own person, and this was – this was all – you didn’t want any of this. You should be apprenticing to some master, learning the ropes. Climbing the ranks in the Goldsmith’s guild, hearing insult after insult until it all turned into grudging praise. You should be going to sleep worrying that your next piece would be too hard, or too easy, wondering if your improvement would ever amount to anything.

Instead you’d gotten all you’d ever wanted by virtue of your position as an adventurer, you’d grown in skill impossibly fast.

And it all amounted for nothing.

You leave another trinket in the box. This time, maybe, the person it’s meant for isn’t too lost –

But you can’t fight your way out of that problem now, can you?

\--

It comes for you, too. As well as Zenos – or Elidibus – or whichever Ascian it is who wears your enemy’s face, or your “friend’s” face, or whatever the hell he was to you. He _wanted_ to fight, wanted to fight _you –_ and as much as you hated being Warrior of Light, it was somehow relieving, to have him as your opponent.

No grand stakes, no greater purpose or impending doom. Just you and him and the sky for your battlefield. It could have almost been fun.

You fall to your knees, prone before the most dangerous enemy you’ve faced so far.

Someone calling for help. Telling you about some disaster that was about to happen. Inevitable doom. Unwinding fate.

**_Go to hell._ **

You only think it, of course. You don’t have the breath to say it and you’re not likely to have much more before not-Zenos cuts it off from you, permanently.

All of them. The Eorzean Alliance, Lyse and Raubhan, Hien and Doma, Zenos or whoever the hell it was, Varis and Garlemald and the Ascians and **_all of Hydaelyn,_**

**_They could go ROT._ **

What kind of world is this? It’s all going dark around you, senses fading mutely as not-Zenos winds up for the killing blow.

If the world needs you to save it, each time, _every_ time, then maybe this world really _is_ doomed. It can just die now, and spare you all this suffering.

\--

The Exarch begs your patience. To explain.

You let him, of course. Because what choice do you have, trapped in an unfamiliar world, surrounded by this Exarch’s allies? When he was the one who brought you here.

Even before he begins, you know his story. It’s all the same story.

Help us, he will ask. We have tried and tried and fought so hard for so long, but we need _you_ to do this for us. We need _you_ to save us. You are our only hope.

And you’ll do it. You’ll do it because he’s really telling the truth, he’s being honest. There are real people here, living human beings with hopes and dreams of their own. Living their lives as cobblers or weavers or goldsmiths, humming away while they work, carrying about chores during their day, joking and bickering and fighting with their loved ones and coworkers.

Ordinary people just living, just _existing,_ and this damned world can’t see fit to give them that much.

You have to make it happen for them. No one else can, or will.

“Will you help us?” The Exarch asks, and he’s offered to send you home, but the Scions are here – they’ve been waiting for you, even, for _years_ – and you can’t leave, you could never leave.

For those you have lost. For those you can yet save.

“Yes,” You say.

And yet, at least this time – it’s _you,_ sealing your own fate.

**Author's Note:**

> Merry Christmas, Atma! Hope you enjoyed!


End file.
